by Zia Wesley
The Kadine then summoned a small army of palace artisans—upholsterers, furniture makers, glass blowers, carpet sellers, and drapers—to Nakshidil’s new apartment. The men were led through the harem blindfolded, and received by the women who were completely covered. Eunuchs, outnumbering the craftsmen three to one, stood guard as the new occupant chose suitable furnishings.
At one point, Nakshidil entered into a discussion with a furniture maker who did not seem to understand her request.
“A chair,” she repeated for the third time.
Turning to the Circassian Kadine for help, she asked, “How do I say ‘chair’ in Turkish?”
“There is no word for chair because we do not have such a thing. Of course we had chairs in Circassia.” She stopped to think for a moment. “Perhaps we might draw a picture of one to illustrate.”
Together they drew a chair resembling the Rococo style that had been fashionable in Paris during Aimée’s visit. It was square, with a high backrest ornately carved and gilded in gold leaf, with a plump, down-cushioned seat. She wished it to be upholstered in deep magenta velvet.
The furniture maker looked at the sketch and asked, “And the purpose of this piece is?”
“To sit upon,” Nakshidil replied.
Mystified, the man simply agreed. It was not his place to question the Sultan’s women, and he had fashioned stranger objects for other odalisques. He would be well paid whether or not the things he made were useful or comfortable.
“I would like two chairs,” Nakshidil said to the artisan.
“So that you may sit with me when you come to visit,” she added to the Kadine.
~ ~ ~
That evening the Kadine instructed Nakshidil in the protocol and attire required for her visit to the Hall of the Divan on the following day. She must wear a plain black ferace and yasmak so as not to be visible through the pierced wall. The Kizlar Agasi would escort Nakshidil and secrete her within the “Eye of the Sultan,” before leaving her to join the council. In order that her presence remain unknown, she would enter through the private door used only by the Sultan and his chamberlain, prior to the council’s arrival.
Due to her early admittance, she would not observe the elaborate processional entrance made by the Divan members and the Sultan. Therefore, the Kadine described the procedure that had been followed for three hundred years. Just after daybreak, the council members of the Sublime Porte, as the government was called, gathered in the First Court with their retinues of clerks and guards. According to Ottoman law, each man was attired in the robe, turban and boots specified by his rank. Uniforms comprised a rainbow of colors, with feathers, furs, turbans, conical hats and a wide variety of swords, knives and weaponry. Group by group, the members slowly marched five hundred yards across the courtyard to the Gate of Salutation. When the entire group had assembled at the gate, they proceeded into the Second Court, where as many as ten thousand Janissaries, gardeners and gatekeepers stood to watch them pass. Passing into the Second Court, the officials formed two long lines, making a pathway for the Grand Vizier and the Sultan into the Hall of the Divan. As a sign of reverence, the men stood with their arms crossed over their chests and downcast eyes that never looked directly upon their sovereign.
Once inside the Hall of the Divan, visitors were always overwhelmed by the opulent splendor—the intended purpose. The floor and walls were gilded in pure gold, and set with hundreds of precious jewels that glittered and sparkled in the sunlight that poured through the glass-domed roof.
Chapter 2
From her secret place behind the pierced wall, Nakshidil could see why the room was called “The Golden Chamber.” The brilliance of reflected sunlight made it almost too bright to see without shading one’s eyes. She watched the men solemnly enter and take their places on divans, while the Sultan reclined upon his throne, looking healthier and more alert than he had during their previous encounters.
As the proceedings began, Nakshidil listened intently so that she could later report accurately what transpired to the Circassian Kadine. She hoped the information she passed on would prove useful to whatever purpose the heir’s mother might have. She also fully intended to learn more about the machinations of this mysterious government.
In the first order of business, the Sultan had previously revoked some minor but long-held rights of the Janissaries, who considered any type of change a threat to Islamic tradition. They believed Allah’s laws to be perfect, irrevocable and never subject to change; that the government of the Ottoman Empire was the political expression of those laws. Consequently, the government could not change. Traditions were meant to be followed, not altered or broken.
Nakshidil had never been witness to any such event. The Kizlar Agasi recited the council’s approval of the Janissaries’ new demands, and then moved on to the next order of business.
The Sultan sat quietly throughout the proceedings, occasionally glancing in Nakshidil’s direction to see if he could discern her presence. But his new odalisque sat well back from the lattice wall and did not move.
When the council adjourned and the room emptied, the Kizlar Agasi escorted Nakshidil back to her apartment.
“My lady Nakshidil,” he said. You performed a very valuable service today for which many people will be grateful.”
“I am happy to be of service, sir, and I found it very interesting.”
“Nakshidil,” he said bowing deeply, “you are now ‘my lady,’ and I am no longer ‘sir.’”
Surprised by his obeisance, and still unfamiliar with her new power, she laughed and then quickly regained her composure. “By what name shall I call you?” she asked.
“I am called Beyazid, after a Sultan who lived almost four hundred years ago. He was defeated in battle and punished by being carried before his people in a cage. Soon after, he conquered those who had enslaved him.”
“Conquered those who enslaved him,” she mused aloud. “A fitting name for the man who rules the sultan’s harem, I would say,” she smiled.
“Yes, my lady. I hope that you enjoy your new home and that you will allow me to fulfill any and all needs you may have. I see now why my old friend Baba Mohammed held you in such high esteem. With your permission, I will send him news of your good fortune.”
She was delighted by the mention of his name. Dear, dear Baba, she thought fondly.
“Oh, yes, thank you. I wish that I could write him a letter myself. Might that be possible?”
The eunuch smiled wistfully. He hoped that power would not corrupt the graciousness of the lovely young woman, whose life was about to change so dramatically. “It seems that almost anything is possible now, my lady. I will personally assure your letter’s delivery. And now, I bid you good evening.”
Alone for the first time in her new surroundings, Nakshidil surveyed each room carefully. There were five rooms in her suite, and two additional small rooms for her personal servant, Zahar. Her favorite was the sitting room that opened onto a small enclosed garden with fruit trees standing along a bubbling stream. A tiny gilded kiosk sat next to a little pond covered with pink water lilies and bordered by rows of red tulips. Rose bushes grew along a walking path that she knew would be well used and in spring and summer the doors could remain open, allowing sweet, fragrant air to fill her rooms.
Nakshidil’s small dining room had a glass dome in the ceiling through which both the sun and moon would shine. She stood for a moment gazing up, remembering the dome in Baba’s house that had opened to the night sky, and made a mental note to see if such an opening might be possible here. The lower portions of the walls were tiled in intricate patterns of flowers and birds, the upper portions covered by delicately carved wooden panels.
While she was familiarizing herself with her new home, one of the Circassian Kadine’s servants arrived to ask if the Kadine might call on her.
~ ~ ~
A few minutes later, the two women reclined in Nakshidil’s salon.
Getting right to the point
, the Kadine began, “I have had word from the harem that concerns me. Nuket Seza is furious that you have gained the status of ‘favorite,’ and plans to do you harm.”
Nakshidil was shocked. “Do me harm?”
Zahar entered with a tray of coffee and sweets.
“Who prepared this coffee?” the Kadine asked.
“I did, my lady,” Zahar replied.
“And the sweets?”
“From the harem kitchen,” she replied.
“Throw them away and do not taste them yourself. They may be harmful.”
Zahar nodded, and took the sweets away to dispose of them.
“Nuket Seza intends to poison you,” the Kadine said.
Nakshidil stared at her in disbelief. She had never had an enemy or anyone who wished her harm. Now a woman whom she had never met wanted to kill her. “To poison me out of jealousy?” she whispered.
“Oh no, my dear. It is much more complicated than simple jealousy. Despite the Sultan’s contempt of her, Nuket Seza has successfully maintained the position of the most favored woman in the harem for eight years by eliminating any woman or boy child who threatened her position.”
“But how?” Nakshidil asked.
“Through successive acts of treachery... including murder.”
“Murder? But surely there are laws to prevent or punish such behavior.”
“My dear child, the seraglio is an empire unto itself and, unfortunately, these practices have existed and been accepted for hundreds of years.”
“But it is so...” she searched for a word that would not sound insulting.
“Barbaric? Yes. The Turks are famous for their barbarism, despite their sophistication in other matters. If you remember, it was Nuket Seza who poisoned Selim. She is stupid, but wealthy enough to pay others who are smarter than she. I have made arrangements with my personal food taster to serve you until you can engage someone yourself, and you will dine with me tonight. Remember at all times, wherever you are, eat nothing that has not first been tasted and drink only those things that have been prepared by Zahar. Be especially wary of serbets.”
Nakshidil found it difficult to comprehend that someone wished her dead. “What shall I do?’ she asked.
“For now, we must be wary and take precautions.” The Kadine rose and paced the room thoughtfully. It would be wise to find a way to render their nemesis helpless. “I will consider this problem and discuss it with Beyazid.”
She knelt before Nakshidil’s divan and took her hand. “You are too young and kind-hearted to understand the twisted mind that plots against you. I am no longer burdened by either so you must rely on me in this.” The Kadine rose and returned to recline on her divan.
“Let me tell you something of Nuket Seza. Her mother was poor and terribly abusive to her seven children, most of whom were, unfortunately, girls. Nuket never knew what happened to her father; whether he died or simply left the family. She was the youngest. When she was ten years old, her mother had no way to pay the local healer for the traditional circumcision customary with their North African tribe, so she performed it herself... truly mutilating the child. It is a miracle she survived. Before the terrible wound had time to heal, the mother sold her to a slave trader from a passing caravan, who immediately prostituted the girl to his passengers.” She paused to take a sip of coffee and allow her words to be fully comprehended.
Nakshidil simply stared at the Kadine in horror.
“I understand it normally takes up to three months for this type of wound to heal and as I said, the mother did it herself, so the result was more horrific than usual. I have seen it and cannot imagine how painful it must have been. Apparently, the initial coupling was so painful to her she fiercely fought off the customer, attempting to scratch out his eyes. So, the caravaner fed the girl opium to deaden the pain and make her more pliable. She was sold or traded to other caravans like that several times, and traveled throughout North Africa until she was fifteen, when she was sold into the harem. It is hard to imagine how beautiful and exotic she was then, like you in some ways. Of course, she was not blonde but very different from most of the other women because of her great stature and African blood. The Sultan had only been on the throne for a short time and was still in the process of sampling a different woman every night. There were only forty women in the seraglio then, and many were chosen without ever spending time in the school for odalisques. Nuket was one of these and as fate would proscribe, she was the first to become pregnant and to bear a male child.”
Aimée thought of her own childhood and, for the first time in her life, felt fortunate. Her parents had not left her alone intentionally; both had died young, and despite her aunt’s selfishness and indifference to her, she had not been physically abused. She would never have imagined feeling pity for someone as cruel as Nuket Seza. But she did.
The Kadine continued. “When her son was born, the wound of her mutilation was reopened and despite the best efforts of our doctors, it could not be properly repaired. She suffered a great deal for many months afterwards and, unfortunately, took all of that out on the boy, whom she blamed for her pain. I believe that her rage and the continual beatings she inflicted on the boy turned him into a sadistic bully. He is a terrible child who will no doubt grow up to be an equally terrible man.” The kadine paused and shook her head sadly. “These days, Nuket prefers strong drink to opium because the drink allows her to indulge her gluttony while the opium takes away her appetite. So, she drinks Arak all day and smokes opium to sleep. Unfortunately, drink does not dull her anger like opium, and she is prone to uncontrollable fits of rage. I believe the only time she has any peace is when she sleeps.”
Moved by the story, Nakshidil’s eyes had filled with tears. “Is there no way to assuage her pain and anger? It is whispered her child is a monster, and how could he be otherwise? How can this possibly end well for either of them?”
“It will not end well, my dearest. We can only hope that it will somehow end soon.”
Nakshidil sighed deeply. “I am sorry for her and for her son. I will pray for their salvation.”
“You would do better to pray for their demise. I foresee no salvation here. Meanwhile, try not to fret. The Kizlar Agasi has chosen your guards from the ranks of men who cannot be bought at any price, and I have posted extra guards outside your garden doors. You will be safe here.”
Nakshidil’s brow furrowed. “I feel like a prisoner... for the first time.”
“Not so, my girl, you are a cherished member of the royal family, who must be protected.”
The Kadine stood to leave. “Have your guards escort you to my apartment tonight to dine.” She bent to kiss Nakshidil’s cheek, and left.
When Nakshidil was alone again, she reclined on a divan, reflecting on the complex subculture that had been hidden from her until now. If she intended to survive, as well as rise in the harem ranks, she had much to learn, and the first thing she must do was surround herself with loyal companions. She must remember to ask the Kadine if it might be possible to bring Perestu, her young friend from the harem school, into her service.
~ ~ ~
The next two weeks were filled with activities to complete her apartments, the hiring of a personal staff, and almost nightly visits to the Sultan. The latter occupied most of her time, as she was forbidden to wear the same attire more than once. Consequently, she spent several hours each day with her dressmakers, and several more in the bath being prepared: massaged, exfoliated, oiled, shampooed, hennaed, perfumed, made up and coiffed.
The Circassian Kadine advised her against speaking to the Sultan about Nuket Seza until they had proof of her intentions. One did not burden the sovereign with rumors, as there were more rumors in the harem than there were women.
“She will show her hand in some way,” the Kadine assured her. “Or a servant will become frightened enough to bear witness against her. Be patient, and take good care.”
Chapter 3
Early one morning at the e
nd of November, when Nakshidil had been in the harem for almost six weeks, she lay atop the linens on her bed, pale and listless. Fearing that Nuket Seza had finally succeeded in her evil intent, she barely found the strength to summon her Kutuchu Usta to her bedside. How had this happened when she had been so careful? All of her food was prepared in her private kitchen by trusted cooks, and then tasted by her personal food taster. When had she been remiss?
The loyal herbalist arrived, and Nakshidil whispered, “I am not well, Mahine. I could not eat my yogurt this morning, and my stomach feels as if I am at sea.”
Fearing the worst, the wise woman asked, “What have you eaten or drunk today?”
“Just rose-petal tea that Zahar prepared for me.”
“When did you last eat?”
Nakshidil thought for a moment. “Yesterday, at the noon meal. I had no appetite for dinner, and awoke so ill this morning.” She closed her eyes, certain that poison coursed through her body and that she was dying.
Mahine felt Nakshidil’s forehead, which was cool to her touch. She gently pressed her fingers into Nakshidil’s belly above the navel. “Does that hurt?”
“No.”
She moved her hands, and carefully palpated Nakshidil’s abdomen. “Any pain here?”
Nakshidil shook her head, no.
“Here?”
“No.”
“Let me see your tongue,” she said, examining it closely. “Do you have pain, anywhere?”
“No, but I think I’m going to be sick.”
The Kutuchu Usta quickly pulled a large silver tray from a bedside table, and held it for Nakshidil to vomit onto. When the retching stopped, she took the tray to another room to examine its contents, while Zahar tended to Nakshidil.
